Falling
by Libbet
Summary: I was a child! I was in love! It was wrong and you knew it." "You knew what you were doing." Indy and Marion, 1926.
1. Chapter One

A/N: Well, guys, it's been a while. Post KotCS I felt the need for some Indy/Marion, and though I liked a lot of what I saw, I did not see my version what happed. This lead me to suck it up and write it for myself. How far this will go I really have no idea. It been two years since I left Han and Leia on Ord Mantell. I have a better handle on plot here, but laziness could always ensue.

Enjoy, I know that despite my best efforts, I own no part of Indiana Jones.

Chicago, June 1926

He hadn't for a moment considered that after two years Marion would be unrecognizable. She had been a pretty kid, sure, a curly-haired freckle face with eyes so big they swallowed most of the rest of her. But on top of the prettiness had been the constant sun-burn, the skinned knees and the dust stained dresses. She had been a kid.

This Marion was different, Indy realized, as the slim brunette at the end of the room grinned, and started towards him. The smile was the same, the eyes and the freckles too. But that was about it. Her hair was longer than fashion dictated, a concession Indy attributed Abner, but pinned elegantly back from her face and a far cry from the girlish braids of old. And despite the boyish cut of her green blouse, he could see her figure had changed.

They were in the sunlit workroom of the University's archaeology department. The large space was filled with students and professors alike, all in possession of one artefact or another, studying, cleaning, or, as Marion had been, cataloguing. He had arrived, having been told by Abner's housekeeper of the girl's whereabouts, only to discover he could not find the girl. He had stood by the door, searching for several minutes, before a secretary Indy thought looked vaguely familiar had tapped the shoulder of what Indy had assumed to be a student and pointed his way. His eyes widened as he took in the changes.

She crossed the room before he had moved a foot. "Indiana Jones," she said, hands on her hips, "I really oughta be mad at you right now."

Her mouth certainly hadn't changed. One corner of his lips lifted in a half-grin. "Really, Miss Ravenwood? And why is that?"

"First, you abandon me for Paris and Sorbonne, leaving me to suffer through the painful boredom of two summers' worth of excavation without any amusement whatsoever. And now, on the very day of your return to you old alma mater, you're three hours late. I gave up waiting, you know, and came here. A new shipment of artefacts arrived from Cairo this morning."

"Anything exciting?" Kid though she was, Indy had to admit she knew her stuff. The years of being dragged around the world had amounted to a pretty fair expert, even in a seventeen-year-old.

Marion shrugged. "Not really. But then Dad never sends back the best stuff, and hardly ever writes to say he's found it." She took a look round the work room, then turned back to him. "Let's get back to the house. It's not like I'm needed here, and Ester has all the tickets and things."

Indy followed her back to her workstation, silently appraising the items as she packed them up. Marion's assessment has been good. A few nice pieces, Middle Kingdom mostly, but nothing that would lead them to Tanis or the Ark. "I see you've been promoted up from errand girl," he said noting the complexity of the records she had been making.

Marion scoffed. "Ha. Barely. I've been on more digs than most grad students and yet I'm still doing work a second year could do." She stacked the crate of catalogued artefacts, picked her records and headed towards the filing cabinet, Indy in tow. "Still," she mused as she put away the records, "it certainly beats the hell outta school."

Indy remembered Marion's passionate loathing of her uppercurst boarding school. "It gets better."

Marion rolled her eyes. "You wanna bet? Dad's threatening to keep me with him when I finish. No university for me. Just a life of unpaid secretarial work for a man that is never gonna find what he's looking for."

The left the workroom and navigated the twisting corridors of the old building, Indy considering the resentment in Marion's voice. Despite the crack about never finding the Ark, Indy understood how she felt. Like him at that age, Marion had no mother, an obsessed father, and a burning desire to prove herself. Unlike him, she had no war to escape to and the dismal luck of being female. And, Indy couldn't help but think, she certainly was female.

They had met five years before, in the spring of 1921, back when Indy had been a lowly undergrad and Marion a twelve-year-old kid. It was at a dinner party of Abner's, the first Indy had been invited to in his progress from everyday student to valued protégé. Marion was sitting on the staircase, dejected as only a twelve-year-old at an adult dinner can be. He was one of the last to arrive though not the very last, Marcus Brody taking that dubious honour. The housekeeper had opened the door to his knock, and Marion had watched as he walked into the foyer like he owned it and everything else. She noticed him instantly, the only person at the party within fifteen years of her age. She noticed him, but did not expect him to notice her.

He did, in fact, notice the lonely-looking girl on the stairs, a waved at her with a friendly grin. Her eyes became huge and after a second she smiled back. Abner had entered then, and after a brief introduction he swept Jones, still just Mr. Jones, in to meet the other guests.

They traveled together that year, Abner, Marion, Indy and the rest of the UofC team, from the States to the dig in Jerusalem. It had been the last of Marion's outbound voyages with her father. After ten years of following Abner in the company of a governess, Marion was sent to Ferry Hall School and thereafter only joined her father for July and August. She had been angry about the decision, and spent the four month excavation alternately ignoring and clinging to Abner.

Indy had paid little attention to her that year, which was more than most of the rest of the team could claim. He had been far more interested in Mabel, Marion's red-haired governess, but had enough ship-board chess games against the girl to know she was a smart little thing. They were, over the next three summers, not quite friends. There was, however, camaraderie of sorts. Jones, it was widely acknowledged, was the only one who could keep up with Abner's little girl in wit, energy and sheer audacity. Marion was cheeky, Indy was impudent, and it was considered a blessing by all that he had not been stuck with them at her age.

Now, over five years since their first meeting, and nearly three years since their last, Indiana Jones and Marion Ravenwood were once again travelling together. Having spent May and June teaching a spring course at Connecticut's Marshall, the newly Ph.Ded Indy had missed the beginning of Abner's lasted dig. Not one to pass up working with the most gifted bum he'd ever trained, Abner had been ecstatic to have his student back and named the inconvenience a blessing in disguise. Why, Marion was in school till the end of June too. If Indy could 

accompany her to Cairo, Abner would be most grateful. Indy, remembering the tomboy, had agreed. Perhaps unthinkingly, he had not expected to find a young woman in her place.

She was still feisty, Indy concluded during the fifteen-minute walk back to Abner's nearby house. Indy told of his most daring exploits since their last meeting and Marion regaled him with tales of some of her more vapid classmates as the made there way down the suitably colligate tree-lined street. Indy was clad much like he had been the night of their first meeting, something Marion had rarely seen since. The hat was there, of course it was, but he wore a suit that shone with respectability, not the sweat stained kakis she was used to.

As they made their way up the path to the house she considered this. "Paris turn you into a dandy, Jones?" Marion asked, opening the door.

Indy stopped just inside the door frame. His brow furrowed and he looked himself up and down. "What's wrong with the suit, sister?"

She smiled to herself. "It's not the Indiana Jones I remember. You know, stained, unshaven and generally dirty. "

He didn't reply. She turned back to face him, and was suddenly very aware of him looking her up and down. He grinned that stupid lop-sided grin of his.

"Sweetheart, you're not the Marion Ravenwood I remember."


	2. Chapter Two

_A/N: This one took a little longer than I thought it would. I spent copious amounts of time looking up life circa 1926, so hopefully it was worth it. I also made a point of editing it better. I think I got all the bugs out... My editing is terrible. Also, before I get flamed- I am not a smoker, nor do I condone the activity. It is, however, canon and true to both the character and the period. Thanks to all the lovely people who reviewed. _

"_Sweetheart, you're not the Marion Ravenwood I remember."_

Even as the words came out of his mouth, Indy knew they were totally inappropriate. Even for a self-confessed ladies' man, there was a line, and Abner's daughter was far on the other side of it. He hurriedly wiped off the leer he knew adorned his face and had the grace to stare intently at the carpet.

There was silence, and Indy soon realized Marion had no intention of dignifying his comment with a response. He looked up to find her already half-way across the hall. With several bounds of his long legs he was caught up, and he tried to not to focus on the fact that she was blushing.

They moved from the foyer into Abner's study, where they were met by the housekeeper. Ester Wilkins was a stocky, iron haired woman who had been with the Ravenwoods long before Indy had known them. While his first few encounters with her had lead Indy to believe she disliked him, he now knew that it was not, in fact, him. Mrs Wilkins simply treated everyone with the same cool detached manner. Marion was the only person he'd ever heard use her first name. Occupied with closing the house for the summer, Mrs Wilkins handed him the travel documents, informed him that his luggage had been put in the green room, and went about her business.

Indy pulled one of the wooden steno chairs meant for visiting students up to the large desk and laid out the paperwork. Marion, without Indy's student/teacher associations, settled herself comfortably in Abner's massive leather armchair and coolly lit a cigarette. The click of the lighter and the sudden smell of smoke raised Indy's attention from the itinerary to the girl. He raised his eyebrows. "A smoker, Miss Ravenwood?"

She rested her head against the chair's high back and raised an eyebrow. "A prude, Dr Jones?"

"Not at all," Indy replied. "Just surprised. I can't quite see Abner approving of that sort of habit."

Marion took another drag. "You know, Indy, there's this old saying about what people don't know and how it can't hurt them.

"And you expect me not to tell Abner?"

"I expect you to mind your own business. And really, it's 1926. What girls don't smoke these days?" She held a cigarette out to him. "Want one?"

"Never thought I'd be bumming smokes of a teenager," Indy grumbled, but took one nonetheless.

She leaned the desk to give him a light, smiling at the bemused look on his face. "You've wondering how I started in the first place, aren't you?"

"Can't deny I am."

Putting the lighter back in her purse she replied, "I go to boarding school. There are rules and I break them. There's not much else to do."

Keen to get away from the subject, and unnerved by the image of a very grown-up Marion smoking in her father's armchair, Indy brought the conversation back to the business at hand.

"It's simple, really," Marion explained. "Train to New York tonight, in the morning we board the RMS Aquitania to Southampton, Southampton to Casablanca for quick stop in French Morocco, then through the Mediterranean and down the Nile. They'll have moved on from Cairo then, so we'll be meeting the team at Luxor. Nothing we haven't both done before."

French Morocco was the part that worried Indy. As Spanish Morocco had just come out of a war the region was far from stable, and the travel would add a week to their trip. And then there was the idea of being Marion's- what? Guardian? Chaperone? Both sounded wrong. Whatever it was, Indy had no desire to prolong the experience.

The real problem came when discussing exactly why they were stopping over in Morocco and Indy quickly became impatient. Abner's combined lack of specificity and foresight had given Marion an opening she quickly took advantage of.

"Look, I don't have to tell you what 'antiques auction in Marrakesh' means," Indy explained, attempting to keep most of the frustration out of his voice. "Definitely seedy, probably illegal, and incredibly dangerous. I wouldn't be going myself if Abner didn't think it getting this piece was necessary."

"I can take care of myself," she retorted, resisting the urge to mock him for doing whatever Abner wanted.

"I'm sure you can," he replied. "But I promised I'd take care of you and letting you tag along doesn't exactly fall under take care. It's bad enough I have to drag you from Casablanca to Marrakesh and back again. The county is a goddamn snake pit. Trust me Marion; I know what I'm talking about. Abner would not want you there."

Marion was unable to resist any longer. "Well, unlike you, Dr Protégé, I'm not exactly keen to do Abner any favours. And the idea of getting you into trouble with him is actually kind of appealing. "

"Marion, I get that you resent him, but honestly-"

"But what?" she interrupted. "You think you have the monopoly on parental resentment?" Indy froze and Marion could see the unspoken question in his eyes. "Of course I know. People ignore me. I hear everything."

"Look missy, my lack of relationship with my father is neither here nor there in this conversation. You're not coming to the auction, Marion. You couldn't win against Abner about school and you sure as hell won't win against me about this."

She laughed cruelly. "Don't even think about trying to order me around. Not gonna work Jones. You've been off the Ark search for two years, you'll need my help. Plus, you'll be stuck on a ship with me for weeks. I can make your life a living hell." The murderous look in her eyes left Indy with no doubt that she meant exactly what she said.

He sighed, tiring of the test of wills, but not quite ready to surrender. "Is that how you deal with your father?"

Marion's response was brutally frank. "How else am I supposed to get any attention?"

Indy sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "Okay. You can come to the auction, but on two conditions. One, no making my life a living hell." He was not surprised to see her look slightly disappointed. "And two, you learn how to shoot."

Her eyes widened and a broad grin lit her face. "Really? You'll teach me?"

"I'm gonna regret this," he vowed, "but there's no way in hell I'm taking you in unarmed."

Dinner was a casual affair, eaten in the kitchen rather than the large dining room. Indy had a sneaking suspicion that Mrs Wilkins was not exactly pleased to be doing extra cooking, and so endeavoured to be as polite as possible. The promise of shooting lessons had obviously captured Marion's imagination, and she begged to begin as soon as possible. Indy promised to do just that, but there was no way they could start quite yet.

"Marion, it's almost seven. The train leaves at nine. I am not teaching you to shoot in the next two hours."

She pouted, but was forced to concede to his wisdom when she remembered her last suitcase was still only half full. She disappeared up the stairs to finish, and Indy happily perused Abner's library.

The prearranged cab arrived at quarter to nine, just as Marion was lugging the last of her luggage into the foyer. She called Indy back from the study as the driver loaded their bags, and together they bid farewell to Mrs Wilkins. Marion slid into the backseat next to him and grinned. Older and already travel weary from his journey to Chicago, Indy was less enthused. He understood how she felt though. Despite being about to embark on a fifteen hour red eye to New York, Indy had to admit it was a little exciting. They were on their way.


	3. Chapter Three

_A/N: You all know the drill. I own no part of these guys or their wonderful story. A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed! The fact that people seem to like it is a huge motivation to keep going, as is the fact that I actually have it pretty much all planned out. I'm having a lot of fun, especially with the dialogue and I hope you are too!_

Marion woke, still curled up on her seat, to find that Lake Eerie was no longer visible through the window beside her. They were in New York State she realized, only a few hours away from the city. She shifted to look at the man in the aisle seat next to her.

Indiana Jones was an attractive man; she had to give him that much. Marion had always known he was good looking. They had met when she was twelve for God's sake, not three. But she had rated him handsome and left it at that. Marion Ravenwood was not one for pining after impossible boys. It was a waste of time and infallibly made one look like an idiot. And he had seemed impossible then. Somehow the age gap between fourteen and twenty-four felt much bigger that the one between seventeen and twenty-seven. Remembering his birthday, she smiled to herself. Indy was still twenty-six.

Studying him, Marion came to the conclusion that there was a very real difference between being good looking and being attractive. Someone could be objectively judged good looking. Attractive was much more personal.

Indy had changed, Marion concluded, just as she knew she had changed herself. His hair was a little longer, his stride a littler looser and more confident. His shoulders had broadened. Not by much; he was still slim enough to be called lanky, but there was a power in his stance that had not been there before. Or perhaps she had simply been too young to notice it.

She shifted again, stretching carefully so as not to wake him. Indy had dozed off less than two hours into the trip, confirming Marion's suspicion that he was seriously overtired. He had, after all, only just finished teaching a course at Marshall College, and Marion had a feeling he'd left New Britain, Connecticut for Chicago, Illinois the moment the last exam was marked . Luckily for him, the worst of their journey was almost over. The train ride was long and uncomfortable. The ocean voyage would be luxurious.

Marion had traveled on the RMS Aquitania twice before, both to and from the excavation last summer. It was her favourite, and as she had been traveling on ocean liners since infancy Marion felt that had to count for something. On top of that, instead of the two person cabin she had shared with her Aunt Alice the year before, Marion and Indy were berthed in a suite. Abner had never spared any expense when it came to her accommodations, but a suite offered more room, a bigger bed and a position of status on an incredibly classist vessel. For the next six days she and Jones would be living the high life.

Indy finally woke as the train was pulling into Grand Central Station and was annoyed to find Marion looking as though she hadn't spent the last fifteen hours in a cramped train compartment. She was serenely reading a book, her hair arranged and her dress almost entirely free of wrinkles. Indy, despite sleeping for most of the trip, despite being just as experienced a traveller, felt tired, stiff and 

grimy. His unshaven face itched and the constriction of his suit reminded him exactly how much he missed his kakis.

Sensing his movement, Marion turned to him and grinned. "Looks like you slept well."

"Shut it, sister," Indy said, removing the ever present fedora to run a hand through his hair. "I'd like to see you after travelling as much as I have in the past month.

Marion rolled her eyes, but had to admit he had a point.

Gathering up the luggage was something of an undertaking, given the length of the journey for which they had packed, but Indy and Marion were from the station to the docks, onto the liner and into their suite in record time. Marion looked at the clock on the wall of their sitting room and laughed aloud. "You've managed to spoil me, Indy. It always took at least twice as long with Alice."

Indy wasn't surprised. Abner's widowed sister had never been the most organised of people. Her presence at the digs the last few summers had been for Marion's benefit only. With no governess after she started school, it was decided Marion needed a female companion and Alice Wharton had been summoned to the task. "Which reminds me," Indy said, "why am I here instead of Mrs Wharton?"

"Because Mrs Wharton is now Mrs Hinchey," Marion replied as she tossed her hat in the direction of a side table and dropped onto the elegant chaise. "She married this newspaper man in April. It was about time. Her first husband died in the war and believe me, the widow aunt part is no fun at all."

Indy gave no reply, just grunted in agreement. Marion watched as he made his way around the spacious suite, peeking into the two staterooms and giving a low whistle of approval at the sight of the lavatory. He turned back to her. "This is one damn nice boat."

Her eyes widened in mock surprise. "Don't tell me the revered protégé didn't get first class treatment?"

"Oh, I did," Indy replied, face straight. "I just had to share a cabin with Harold Oxley and he snores like hell"

Marion laughed, unsurprised by that fact. "You're in luck then. I don't sore at all."

"How can you know for sure when you're asleep?"

"How can you?"

Indy's smile was infuriatingly smug and totally irresistible. "There are plenty of young ladies who can testify in the negative."

"I bet that's not all they've testified in the negative about," she snorted inelegantly.

"Then it's lucky for you we have separate staterooms." He raised an eyebrow. "Especially as it renders any illicit snoring inaudible."

The sexual tone of their banter was not lost on either, and Indy was perversely pleased that Marion had not frozen up and ended the conversation. Not that it was surprising, really. Marion Ravenwood had never failed to give as good as she got and then some.

She smirked at him. It seemed the suggestive comments were simply a part of Jones' nature and Marion couldn't say that disappointed her. She had spent the last ten months surrounded by people who tried, rather unsuccessfully, to make her a proper young lady. Indy, at the very least, would be a good time.

"Well speaking of snoring, we'll be launching soon so we should get up to the promenade deck and do the requisite waving to the crowd."

Indy groaned. "Come on, Marion. You know that's only so everyone can show themselves off and scope out the social competition."

"Oh, I know. The society on these liners is bloody murder. Last year the rich old dames spent the entire voyage trying to marry me off to their grandsons. I hope you won't insist on going off to the smoking room after dinner, it'll leave them free to pounce. And I understand you'll want some male company, but if I get stuck having the ears bored off of me while you're off being masculine, so help me Indy-"

"Relax, Marion. Those grandsons aren't getting anywhere near you on my watch."

"It the grandmothers I'm more worried about."

Indy shook his head. "Then the grandsons are idiots."

"What teenage boy isn't an idiot?" There was a pause as Marion got up from the chaise to search for her discarded hat and Indy conceded the point. Even considering himself at that age was enough to prove her right. "Anyway," she continued, now looking for the hat pin, "The grandmothers are the ones who won't take no for an answer."

Adjusting the tilt of her hat, Marion got back to the point and addressed Indy's reflection in the mirror. "It's a bitch, I know, but like it or not we're part of polite society on this boat, and unless you want to speak to no one but me for the next six days I suggest we go show ourselves off and scope out the social competition."

Indy huffed dramatically and made a show out of fixing his tie and straightening his jacket. Marion laughed. "You know Jones, you better watch out. Ten bucks says the old broads will be after you for their granddaughters."

"Twenty says they'll be after me for themselves." Ready to go, Indy offered her his arm.

Instead of taking it Marion thrust her hand towards him. "I'll make you a deal then. I delicately imply to the ladies that you're spoken for and you promise not to leave me marooned in elegant young lady hell. And take me to the shooting gallery first thing in the morning."

"Deal," Indy said, and shook on it. Again he offered his arm and this time she took it. Leaning down, he spoke quietly in her ear. "But you owe me big time, sister."

Marion's smile was a challenge. "Okay."


	4. Chapter Four

_A/N: It's been a while since the last update, I know, but I have a special treat. This chapter is 500 words longer than the last one. Which was mostly unintentional, actually. I hope you enjoy, and I encourage you to take a look at my fledgling blog(linked on my profile). It has extended notes about Falling, and will host some drabbles and original fiction. I'd also like to let everyone know that I plan to change my username to __**Libbet**__ soon, so that my accounts at TelevisionWithoutPity, Nerfherder's Playground and here at ff.n will all be under the same name. _

The rest of the day was a blur of well dressed travellers and trivial small talk. It was up on deck for the launch, back down to dress for evening, cocktails at five, dinner at eight and straight back to the suite as soon as they could escape. Indy found himself in the odd position of rueing the Aquitania's British registration. It's avoidance of American prohibition laws seemed as much as much a blessing as a curse. Swaning about in polite company was not Indy's idea of a good time, drinks or no.

There was a moment of awkwardness when Indy and Marion were introduced by an old acquaintance of Abner's to Mrs. Maria Coatsworth-Hayes. The upstanding dowager took issue with the idea of an unmarried man, no matter how many degrees he possessed, being chaperone to a well bred young lady like Miss Ravenwood. A few comments along the lines of "favour to my father" and "like brother and sister" cleared up the matter, but to Indy and Marion the damage was done. Both had been studiously avoiding the fact that their situation was less then entirely proper and neither could help but wonder what Mrs Coatsworth-Hayes would say to their exchange in the suite.

By unspoken agreement, they made their escape between dessert and coffee, declining the evening's entertainment. A fifteen hour, overnight train left little energy for dancing or taking in a show.

Indy and Marion strolled leisurely towards their suite. Coming to a stop, Marion leaned against the railing and looked out at the black ocean rolling beneath them. "Thanks, Jones," she said, "for, well, not abandoning me in there."

Indy stood beside her and rested his elbows on the top of the railing. Music floated out from the ballroom. "And why would I do a thing like that?"

"I don't know," Marion sighed, fishing in her purse for her cigarette case, then putting one to her lips. "Who knows why any one does anything?" She leaned forward, accepting a light from the match Indy offered. He watched as she took a long drag, and then blew smoke out into the night. "I guess I'm used to getting left behind."

Taking a cigarette from the case in his jacket pocket, Indy considered that. "Yeah. I know what you mean. It gets better though, as you get older. You get your own life."

Marion raised an eyebrow at that. "Says the man. I've told you this before, Indy. Your father expected you to go to college, have your own life. I get dumped at boarding school for most of the year, and then Abner drags me all over the place to organize his notes and catalogue his finds. I see no reason he'll stop when I graduate, he's been threatening it for years. I'll be his assistant, unpaid I might add, all year round."

She was feeling decidedly bitter tonight Indy decided, and attempted to lighten the mood. "You could always get married."

"Ha! Yeah, that's real likely, Dr Jones."

From bitterness to cynicism. Indy wasn't sure that was an improvement.

"Have it your way, Marion. I'm too damn tired to argue with you." He started to walk away, but she didn't move. "Come on. I'll fix you a drink, if you don't fall asleep on me first."

She complied, and walked silently beside him for several long minutes before speaking again. "Indy," she said, starting down the spiral staircase that led to the first class deck. "Why did you go to France?"

"Why do you care?" Indy asked, following behind.

"Curious, I guess. Why didn't you stay in Chicago to do your doctorate?" Marion stopped at the bottom of the stairs and waited expectantly.

Indy shrugged, coming into step with her and continuing down the corridor. "I'd been studying under your father for years. Needed to find my own niche, I guess. And Edmond Pottier was doing some interesting work on ancient South American tribes at Sorbonne. It seemed like a good time to go."

Marion seemed to accept this, as she took her key from her purse and let them into the suite. Taking the cigarette from her lips she butted it in the glass ashtray, dropped her purse on an end table, and then sat neatly on the chaise with an impertinent smile that worried Indy very much.

"I seem to remember a drink being offered."

Indy rolled his eyes but went over to the bar none the less. "Alright, missy," he said, rooting through the various bottles, "I answered the question. Now it's your turn."

"Shoot."

He turned back to face her. "If this school of yours is so terrible, why are you mad about all the globetrotting?"

Indy fixed the drinks as Marion spoke. "Oh, schools not so bad," she answered matter-of-factly. "It's dad's whole bloody attitude. Eight months of the year I'm a burden he can't be bothered with, and for the other two..." She shrugged. "Apparently I'm valuable."

Marion took the proffered drink and stretched out on the chaise. "That a good enough answer for you, Jones?"  
"You're the one who wanted to play Twenty Questions," Indy replied. He watched in surprise as Marion knocked back the drink with an ease born of practice he never would have suspected. Then again, she was Marion. "One more thing."

"Oh?" she raised a daring eyebrow.

"How, pray tell, does a girl your age learn to drink like that? You had a cocktail earlier, a glass of wine with dinner and now this. One of your school buddies know a good bootlegger?"

Marion's smile was huge and self-satisfied. "No, nothing like that."

"Come on," Indy coaxed. "Swear I won't breathe a word to Abner."

"Alright, but you do you're a dead man." She leaned towards him. "Last March, a friend and I snuck into the school chapel one night stole two bottles of sacramental wine."

Indy's grin matched Marion's. "No."

"Yup," She answered, sounding incredibly pleased with herself. "And the best part is they never suspected us for a minute. Some boys at the school we share the chapel with got blamed for it." She swirled the remains of her drink around in the glass. "What do you call this, Jones?"

"A Parisian."

"How appropriate." She fished the blackcurrants out of the ice, held them in the palm of her hand and ate the dark purple berries one by one.

"Well," Indy said, as the silence stretched on. "I guess it's time to hit the bunks." He stood up, not exactly sure what the protocol was. This would have been so much simpler if they'd just got separate cabins. "Uh... do you want the bathroom first, or should I take it?"

Indy woke the next morning feeling well rested for the first time in a long time. He raised his head off the pillow and looked at the clock on his nightstand. Eight o'clock. Soft sounds of breakfast being consumed issued from beyond the wall his bunk stood against, but he could hear nothing from his own suite's sitting room. Indy was almost surprised Marion hadn't barged in demanding they be off to the gun range before sunrise.

Indy rummaged though one of his still packed suitcases and dressed, defying fashion, in his for once freshly laundered kakis. Clothed for what he hoped would be a productive day, and carrying several large books, he made his way into the sitting room. From the leather bag resting on the circular table in one corner of the room Indy produced a pen and sheaf of paper. After several long minutes of arranging books and sorting through paper, Indy set to work on his latest work, an article analysing some of the more interesting finds he had made with Dr Pottier in South America.

At eight-thirty, two stewards arrived bearing breakfast and, after stacking his work where food would not reach it, Indy tucked in. By nine, with still no sign of Marion, he was starting to get annoyed. She had said first thing. Indy was beginning to worry that had meant noon. Did the girl not realise he had plenty more to do than teach a teenager how to shoot? And really, if she wanted her coffee at all warm she would have to hurry.

As if she had heard his thoughts, Marion chose that particular moment to emerge from her room. Like Indy, she had chosen comfort over fashion and wore a simple cream coloured skirt and blouse. Her hair was, like it had been in the workroom at the university, pinned back, and out of the way.

Indy put down his coffee cup. "And the lady graces us with her presence."

"Shut up, Jones," she said good naturedly, sliding into the chair next to his and surveying breakfast. "You better not have eaten all the good stuff."

"That's real nice, coming for you, Miss Lazy-Bones."

Marion ignored his remark, instead laughing in triumph as she uncovered the fruit spread. She loaded up the porcelain dish provided and began to eat. Indy was starting to feel better about the whole trip. Marion had turned out to be good, although disconcertingly attractive, company. She wasn't shy, stupid or whiny, three things he found difficult to endure in anyone. For someone he was supposed to be watching out for, she seemed remarkably self-reliant.

For her part, Marion was also feeling good. The noticeable difference in the way Indy treated her and the way she was treated by almost everyone else had put her in a foul, bitter mood the previous evening. Now she felt only relief. Here was someone she could relate to, someone who could 

understand her. The fact that he was one of a very few seemed less important in the encouraging daylight. And he was going to teach her how to use a revolver.

They went to the shooting gallery soon after. It stuck Indy as something incredibly stupid to have on a ship, but, he was forced to admit, it was useful. Marion was, as he had suspected she would be, a quick study and her enthusiasm was infectious. Indy attempted, as he showed her his favourite Webley and the back-up he often carried, to school her in the sobriety of what she was about to learn.

"This instrument can kill, Marion. That's no little thing. If you're firing this weapon it means that we are in very, very, deep trouble."

Marion looked up at him then, her green eyes solemn. "I know," she said, and he believed her.

That knowledge aside, she could not betray her excitement upon holding the back-up revolver, leaning how to load the rounds, cock the hammer and fire. And she wasn't bad, as Indy and other occupants of the gallery, two older British gentlemen, were forced to concede. Her triumphant smile was incredibly endearing and the glint in her eyes as she fired was undeniably attractive. They left at eleven-thirty, promising the gentlemen that they would, indeed, be returning the next day.

They went to the elegant dining room for lunch, sitting alone at a table and animatedly discussing her progress over French Onion Soup and a delicious salmon dish.

"Looks like it might be the grandfathers you'll have to worry about, Annie Oakley."

"Oh, please Jones, they watched me learning how to shoot a gun. That's not attractive, it's a novelty. "

Indy said nothing, but looked at her, an unreadable expression on his face, until she flushed slightly and went back to her fish.

Back in the suite, Indy resumed his work and Marion retreated to her room. She returned carrying a large tote bag and a book titled _The Murder of Roger Ackroyd_.

"I'm going for a swim," she announced. "Have fun with-," she looked over his shoulder to see what he was working on, "... 'The Lost Civilizations of South America.'"

"I will."

"And don't worry about me. I'll be back in time to dress for dinner."

"I really won't mind if you're not."

"Ha!" she laughed. "In your dreams Dr Jones."


	5. Chapter Five

_A/N: Sorry about the long wait! Darth Real Life has taken hold in the form of work and travel, but Indy and Marion are around and clamouring to be written! This is a little shorter than last chapter, but it sets up a lot for the future. A huge thanks to all those who've reviewed! It means so much to know people are actually reading and enjoying my little project!_

* * *

The pool was located at the very stern of the ship, so that while the view was totally unobstructed, one was always aware of the ocean crashing against the massive propellers. This did not bother Marion in the slightest, however; the pool was spectacular and the noise was, after a while, oddly calming. A long row of deck chairs were set on both sides of the pool, facing inward on the port and starboard of the ship. The stern of the deck above loomed overhead, accessible by spiral staircases on either side. In the shade of the upper deck were four canvas changing tents. The swimmers and sunbathers were for the most part fairly young, the society matrons having refused to patronize a mixed gender pool.

Marion pulled herself out of the water, and returned to the deck chair she had claimed on her arrival. Replacing her swimming cap with a brimmed sunhat, she stretched out and leaned down to pick her book up from under the chair. The noise of the propeller obscured the noise of the other travellers, and she was able to ignore the movement around her and immerse herself in _The Murder of Roger Ackroyd_. It was a new book, and Marion had picked it up on a whim the day before Indy arrived in Chicago. Though she was more one for adventure stories rather than murder mysteries, this one looked promising and Marion remembered a friend saying the author was good. And if it turned out to be terrible there was always _Captain Blood_ waiting in her suitcase along with a DH Lawrence novel she hoped Abner would not find.

After three chapters, Marion decided that Blood, and even Lawrence, could stay where they were. Fate intervened however, as she managed only several pages more before a large, fedora wearing shadow fell over her.

"Given up to those lost tribes so soon, Jones?" she said, parking her place in the book but not quite ready to put it down.

"Nah, I've got other things to do."

"Well, if you want to talk to me about it, sit down; you'll give me a crick in my neck."

He did so, sitting sideways on the empty deck chair beside her. "We should talk about the Ark."

Marion sighed heavily. The bloody Ark. For all his sympathy and understanding, he still shared her father's obsession. "Indy, I am enjoying my last few Ark-free days-"

"I can see that," he said, cutting her off before she could finish. "Now what would Mrs Maria Coatsworth-Hayes think about that swimsuit?"

The suit was dark blue wool, belted around her waist in white. Sleeveless and scoop necked, it ended a little higher than what could be called mid-thigh and exposed far more skin than would have been acceptable five years before. Marion could feel Indy's eyes on her, and was conscious of the way the wet fabric clung to her body. She sat a little straighter and met his gaze. Indiana Jones was not about to intimidate her.

"I'm sure she would be less shocked by my swimsuit than she would be by the way you're looking at it."

"And what way is that, sweetheart?" It was reflex; she could tell it was reflex. The instant the words left his mouth he shifted slightly and looked down at his knees. So he regrets that one, Marion thought. How disappointing. The conversation has been looking up. With an inward sigh, she returned to his original train of thought.

"As I was saying, my last days without the Ark- you really want to take that away from me?"

"You want to get yourself killed in Marrakesh?"

Marion raised an eyebrow. "I thought that's what the shooting lessons are for?"

Indy was starting to look exasperated. "Do you always answer a question with a question?"

"Apparently you do," was Marion's amused response.

He pulled the chair he sat on a few inches closer. "I just think it would be nice to go in with a plan for once. "

She watched him for a moment and, compelled by his earnest expression, agreed. "Well, alright. But we're doing this by the pool. I need something to remind myself that I'm supposed to be having fun."

"Fine," Indy replied, "whatever you want." He had brought that bulging leather bag of his, and was now rummaging through it. "Let's just do it."

Marion watched with mounting dread as he produced two maps, four files of notes and a steadily growing pile of textbooks. He finally appeared to find what he was looking for and handed her an opened, but not empty, envelope. It was from her father and addressed to what Marion assumed was Indy's Paris address. She looked back up and Jones, and received a slight nod of approval. Marion removed the pages inside and handed the envelope back to Indy. The first sheet read:

"_Dear Indiana, _

_I was so pleased to read your last letter. It seems your being offered a position at Marshall has proven a happy coincidence in more ways than one. It has come to my attention that several artefacts looted from the tomb of Lucius Aelius Lamia are being auctioned off at Marrakesh the first week of July. You of all people know what could mean. It is very likely that the grave-robbers who've put them up for sale have no idea of their significance. I shall arrange it that you and Marion pass though in time to attend the auction. You must retrieve these things, Indy, they could be the key we are searching for!_

_All the best, _

_Abner"_

She shuffled though the sheaf of paper, seeing notes and maps all relating to Lamia. "How much did Abner tell you about this?" Indy asked, curious to hear how much practical knowledge she had.

Marion laid the papers on Indy's chair where they wouldn't get wet. "About as much as you. This Lamia guy was a governor of the Roman provinces in Africa for a while; early Imperial, I don't remember the dates exactly. He was supposed to be obsessed with Egypt, went there with Augustus during the whole Cleopatra thing and fell in love with it. After old Cleo killed herself, a bunch of stuff went missing from the palace in Alexandria. Everything supposedly went to the victory spoils, but many of the old Egyptian, pre-Ptolemaic, artefacts were never accounted for. Artefacts like the Staff of Ra. 

Legend has it that Augustus had them hidden somewhere in North Africa, and that Lamia was made governor because Augustus knew he would protect them."

"Exactly," Indy said, impressed. The girl knew her stuff. "You're not bad for a kid, you know."

Marion looked less that flattered. "Thanks Jones."

"Anyway," he continued, "when the guy died he was buried in supposedly Rome, but in the Egyptian style. Embalming, grave goods, the whole thing. And, again supposedly, he was buried with _something _that would reveal the location of the cache to one who was worthy of the knowledge. Sounds like Lamia's been found -"

"-But by idiots who don't know him from any other eccentric Roman noble," Marion finished. "Which is why the stuff is on sale at all."

"Yup. But God knows most of the buyers will be in on the secret. That's where we could run into trouble."

Marion couldn't help but feel that one way or another Indiana Jones would run into trouble, and the idea of getting into trouble with him was undeniably appealing. She was unconscious of the mischievous smile that played on her lips and possessive way she raked her gaze over him as she considered the idea. Indy noticed, and with growing unease stood. She was too young, too off-limits, to play this game with. It was one thing to flirt with a woman, seduce a woman. Marion was, by all definitions, a girl. Well, not all definitions, the prurient part of his mind observed as he took in her lean figure. She's seventeen, the gentleman in him raged. Seventeen and Abner's little girl!

He had to admit, to himself at least, that had Marion been a year older and not his mentor's child, Indy would not have hesitated for a second. Had it not been for those two fatal qualities, the flattery, the banter and the innuendo would have gone full steam ahead without a second thought. From another woman that look and, good God, that smile would have been a catalyst for all out seduction. As it was, Indy was struggling to reign in his instinctive habits.

"So are we done?"

Indy looked down at her, trying to pull himself together. He was the adult. He was going to have to act like it. "Uh, yeah, I guess." He cursed silently. Real mature, Jones, he thought and made himself busy by gathering together maps, notes and text books. She leaned over to where he crouched packing his bag and held out the letter. Avoiding her eyes, he took it.

"Christ, Indy, what is wrong with you?"

"Huh?" He stood and took two steps away from her.

This was starting to get ridiculous. Marion stood and followed, moving towards him, and spoke in a low voice. "You show up at the pool of all places to talk business, and then leave before we've barely begun. You won't shut up and then you fall silent for minutes on end. You rotate between flirtatious, argumentative and just plain distant." She fixed him with a cold, evaluating stare. "So I'm asking Jones, what the hell is wrong with you?"

She could see the denial come into his face before the words came out of his mouth. "I've got no idea what you're talking about, kid."

Disgusted with his lie, Marion rolled her eyes and pushed. Indy grabbed her by the arm.

Together, Indy fully clothed and Marion still wearing her hat, they fell into the pool.

In the moment before they crashed into the water, Indy's eyes met Marion's, wide with astonishment and something else. Whether it was anger or amusement he had no time to contemplate before they were both submerged.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Yes, it's El of Woodside, back again and under a new name! This chapter has been a long hard slog- so thanks to everyone for keeping faith. I'm still here. Huge thanks go to those who've reviewed- you guys have kept me writing even though I have two exams at the end of the week and really should be studying! I direct you to my blog (linked on my profile) for extended authors notes and commentary. Enjoy! _

Indy and Marion arrived at their stateroom, sopping wet, five minutes later, their mouths aching with restrained laughter. They had collected their belongings and left the pool; pretending not to notice the curious stares of the travellers around them, not daring to make eye contact lest they set themselves off into raucous and conspicuous hilarity. Marion had, in an effort to appear somewhat more presentable, donned her skirt and blouse. That proved to be a poor idea, because by the time they crossed the threshold into the stateroom, the white linen was soaked though, transparent and clinging to her body.

Once inside, the dignified act was dropped and Marion marched straight into the lavatory. Indy stood in the doorframe. The room was elegantly furnished in white tile, but would be a tight squeeze for the two of them together. Apparently Marion did not care.

"Well, c'mon Jones! Get in here before you ruin the fancy hardwood and they hit Abner an astronomical bill.

Unable to argue with her reasoning, Indy complied and found himself standing awkwardly in the narrow space. Marion tossed him a towel, then ran her hands through her now thoroughly ruined hair and contemplated the situation. Jones was in the process of attempting to discreetly towel off his fully clothed self. It served him right. If he hadn't forced her to get in his face, he wouldn't have gotten wet at all. She sat on the edge of the pristine tub, her fingers curving around the cold metal lip. However, if they hadn't gotten wet, they wouldn't be in together in the tiny bathroom. Marion knew an opening when she saw it. Time for some answers.

"Why did you call me kid?"

Indy went still and looked at her, the towel clutched against his chest. "When?"

Marion scowled. "Don't ask me when. At the pool, twice. You called me kid."

Indy knew the answer, had known all along somewhere inside him. If he called her kid, she was a kid and he had no place saying or thinking many of the things he had in the past few days. But there was no way he could say that to her. He silently went back to towelling and did not answer.

"C'mon, Jones. Don't play this game with me. I just shoved you in pool for Christ's sake!"

Marion was getting angry. Even with eyes downcast, Indy could tell this. She was getting angry and it took all his willpower not to shout exactly what his problem was. That discussion would get them nowhere except, possibly, in a whole lot of trouble. Indy continued to ignore her.

"Fine." He could hear the resentment clearly in her voice. Guilt washed over him. Marion had done anything to deserve the silent treatment she so often got a home. Compelled to make some sort of response, he met her gaze and instantly regretted it. Marion eyes flashed with something like challenge and her hands went to the top button of her blouse. Indy knew with a sudden, horrible clarity exactly what she had in mind. Don't do it, Marion, he silently pleaded. Don't do this to me.

It was no use. She finished the buttons and peeled off the sodden garment, revealing the pale flesh and dark bathing suit beneath. Her discarded blouse hit the tub with a wet smack.

The shoes went next, white t-strap heels, swiftly unbuckled and tossed to the floor with more force then was strictly necessary.

She raised herself and let her skirt fall to the floor, then added it to the pile of wet linen in the tub.

She was beautiful. There was no denying it, and Indy knew, somewhere deep inside, that he did not want to. And it wasn't just about the physical. He had seen the bathing suit before. She stood before him with no fear, no pretension; exactly who she was. There was no coquetry, no downward glances, no backing off. Marion took a step towards Indy, jabbed him hard in the chest.

"I am not a child!" she spat. "Don't you dare patronize me." She jabbed him again, an angry punctuation to her rant. Before Indy could reply, she spoke again and her voice had lowered to a burning tone he had never heard before. "You're a lying bastard, Jones, but you sure as hell aren't fooling me. I know you want me." Her words were slow, deliberate and vicious. While her gaze never wavered from his eyes, she seemed somehow very aware of the small space their bodies occupied. "And if you are gonna keep on trying to deny that one simple fact? Well fuck, Jones; I don't even want to know you."

Indy had no reply for that and by the time he had mustered the gumption to say simply her name, the door had slammed behind her and she was gone. He was left, perfectly motionless and still dripping, alone in the bathroom.

Sparing his mind from contemplating her words, Indy instead considered Marion's temper. He had always known she had one, but the extent of the reaction he had provoked in her made him almost sympathize with Abner. Almost- because though the poor man could have no idea of how to handle his daughter, Indy had experience with Marion's side of things and in many was she had every right to be angry. What she had the right to be angry about though was less obvious; Indy's chest still smarted from her violent jab.

After the frustrated run of a hand though his hair, Indy set about doing what he had originally intended. Within a few minutes his clothes where in the tub with Marion's and Indy wore one of the fluffy terry cloth robes provided to first class passengers. Deciding a shower was what he needed, he hung the bedraggled apparel over the empty towel rack and made the conscious decision not to think about the fact he was handling Marion's delicate stockings along with his travel stained shirt.

Finally, under the comforting spray of the shower, Indy let himself consider exactly what what going on. What hurt the most was that after all his attempts at subterfuge, she saw though it in the end. Perhaps she had seen it from the beginning. Now she was the one who had taken action and he had stood there like a teenager who'd never been near a girl in his life.

The awful thing was, there was nothing he could do. She was a kid, a fucking kid, and he had no business messing around with her. It was beyond wrong and, though she might not know it, completely unfair to Marion.

After his shower, Indy returned to his room, and moments later heard the swing of doors and padding of footsteps that told him Marion was preparing to do the same. The thought struck him that she had gone in the pool without a bathing cap on and that whatever product she had used to wave her hair had likely been washed away. She was going to kill him.

The faint sounds of her washing broke his mind's fragile defences. _I know you want me_. She knew there was an attraction between them, and Indy no longer had the will to deny it to himself. He wanted her. Despite their age difference, despite Abner- he wanted her. Indy sat on the bed, head in his hands. One thing was for certain. He was in very big trouble.

Marion, meanwhile, sat in a very similar position on the floor of the bathtub. What had she done? Presumption didn't even begin to cover the liberties she had taken. Perhaps Jones didn't want her. Perhaps her foolish schoolgirl brain had made the whole bloody mess up. But another part of her mind called bullshit. Marion wasn't an idiot, and she wasn't exactly the innocent everyone assumed. She was a boarding school student, of course she snuck around. And while she had never gone to bed with any of the boys, she had danced and kissed enough to know attraction, both in herself and directed towards her.

The fact remained, however, the Indy was her chaperone, and he clearly took that job seriously. So now she was stuck on a boat with a man who refused to acknowledge he felt anything and, having laid her cards on the table, she had absolutely no plausible deniability. Indy, on the other hand, could pretend that everything was fine and dandy, that this trip had been merely a series of odd moments meant to be forgotten.

Foremost in her mind was a single question; now what? Did they just go on as they had before? Marion had been telling the truth about her hatred of being patronized, but suddenly she wasn't so sure that was the issue. She had called his bluff. Now what?


End file.
